


Proximity

by squidmemesinc



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Friskiness, Kissing, Locked in a closet trope, Massage, Other, Ratchet and Tailgate appear briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 19:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13347729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidmemesinc/pseuds/squidmemesinc
Summary: Drift and Rodimus get locked in a closet, and rather than try to get out, they decide to stay awhile.





	Proximity

**Author's Note:**

> I have little to no experience rating things that are T or G, so this could be G. Don't @ me.
> 
> THIS IS A BIRTHDAY PRESENT FOR MY BOYFRIEND. I love you happy birthday you big gay.
> 
> Thanks so much to Sam for helping me with a premise. I used everything you said even though I don't think you meant them all to be the same thing bc you have great ideas.

Drift loses the thread of the conversation he’s having with Rodimus when the captain abruptly shoves him into an adjacent closet and throws himself in alongside him.

“ _Rodimus_ , what are you—” he starts to protest, though he should really know he’ll be silenced.

“Shh!” Rodimus says. It seems as if he’s not aware of the standard way of shushing someone, because rather than putting a finger to his lips, he’s splayed his whole hand across the lower half of Drift’s face, and is pressing the whole right half of his back against Drift’s front. Though maybe that can’t be helped. The closet they’ve just fitted themselves into is pretty small, with barely enough room for one of them to turn around.

Drift doesn’t talk, but he listens, senses, trying to get an idea of _why_ this has happened since, he guesses (correctly) that Rodimus won’t yet tell him. He hears someone moving outside, someone big. Someone very big. With Megatron gone, it could only be Ultra Magnus. He hears Magnus’ footsteps pause upon entering the room, then cross it, past the closet, and to the opposite entrance into a neighboring hallway.

Rodimus relaxes finally, dropping his hand from Drift’s face and giggling.

“Why did you do that?” Drift asks. “It’s just Magnus.”

Rodimus scoffs. “‘Just Magnus,’ he says, as if he doesn’t know the look—the ‘I’m Ultra Magnus and I’m super important and I’m going to lecture Rodimus for embracing the joy in life rather than being a stick in the mud like me and also I’m gonna correct his grammar because it’s ‘myself’ and not ‘me’ and also this sentence I’m saying has at least twelve semi-colons in it because I love them and I put them in all my memos of which I send forty-six every day’ look,” he rambles. “You know the look, Drift, come on.”

“I guess I do,” Drift says, smiling despite himself. “He’s gone now, though, so we can get out of here.”

“Mmhmm,” Rodimus hums, not really listening as he presses his audial to the door. “I wanna make sure he doesn’t come back.” He does wriggle around now, nearly whacking Drift in the face with his spoiler, an unmistakable grin on his face even in the darkness. “How do you want to kill the time?” His freshly painted blue fingers dance up Drift’s sides in the close confines.

“There’s not enough room,” Drift says, instead of no, because why would he say no? They’ve been away a while. But it really is too small.

“Psh. You’re flexible, and I’m amazing, we could figure something out.”

Drift studies Rodimus in the dark, looking for any breaks in his confidence, because he just has a sense. “We’re locked in here, aren’t we?”

“Yes. Yes, we are,” Rodimus admits. He doesn’t drop his exuberance, and seems either fine with or excited about being locked in a closet for the foreseeable future, but there is that little twinge he gets on his face whenever he gets caught. Not guilt, exactly, just a bit of a pinch because he’s not been as clever as he thought he had. “There’s actually no handle inside, which is something we’re learning together. Or rather, I just learned it, and now I’m teaching you about it. Don’t say I never gave you anything, Drift.”

“We could just call someone, Rodimus,” Drift points out reasonably, though he’s still leaning into Rodimus, wrapping his hands around his waist and touching their helms together.

“Mm, but then someone would _want_ something from one of us, and we wouldn’t get to hang out.” Rodimus leans in just slightly further and presses a chaste kiss to Drift’s lips, an action which Drift returns, lingering in his touch. “We never get to hang out anymore,” he says even more softly.

Another kiss like that and they’ve both offlined their optics. Drift’s hands move when Rodimus’ find his hips, up to his chest, one reaching to cup his jaw as he leans back across the small distance to the wall, taking Rodimus with him and tilting his head for a deeper kiss. He tugs at Rodimus’ lip with his own, gently applying his teeth, and Rodimus snickers and repeats the action on him, darting up mischievously and kissing the tip of Drift’s nose.

Drift takes the opportunity to duck under his chin, pushing his face into the stretch of the cords at Rodimus’ neck and kissing, softly nipping. He passes gentle, warm vents across Rodimus’ sensors, eliciting a pleased, giggly hum from the other bot. A dusting of condensation has formed across the cables there when he pulls back, tugging Rodimus into him again, caught between holding him as close as he can and the simple thrill of kissing him.

Rodimus’ hands play up and down over the seams of Drift’s hips. He presses himself deeper against Drift, and Drift can tell he’s warmer than average. It tickles when he traces his fingers over the outer mechanisms of his hips, and the heat in Drift is growing too.

He shifts slightly, wondering if maybe Rodimus was right, and they could manage in here, and a bit more passively wondering if he really wants to, or if he’d rather insist on breaking out of this closet before they attempted anything like that. But Rodimus makes another movement.

It’s sort of a twisting jerk, and Drift honestly isn’t sure what he was attempting to accomplish with it, but their plating slips off each other’s and Rodimus’ helm smacks up into Drift’s painfully. They both cry out at the jolt, but while Drift’s forehead stings with a dull sort of pain, Rodimus remains hunched over his shoulder, making a low whining noise.

“Ow, ow, what the heck, stupid closet,” Rodimus complains.

“Dude, what did you do?” Drift asks, trying to pull him up and encountering some resistance from Rodimus himself.

“Ow ow _ow_ don’t do that, ow. Oh, my back.”

“Get up against the wall,” Drift says sternly, trying to turn Rodimus around again.

Rodimus shudders, and this seems to loosen up whatever he’s kinked in his frame enough for him to stand up again. “Oh, I wish you would say that to me more. But come on, where was that enthusiasm five minutes ago?” He tries to carefully turn himself around, and Drift guards against the spoiler hitting him in the face this time.

He lights his fingers down at the base of Rodimus’ spinal strut, not yet applying any pressure, as Rodimus braces his forearms against the door. “Where does it hurt?”

“Up a little, on the right,” Rodimus says, voice softening as his field responds happily to Drift’s careful touch. “Yeah, there.”

Rodimus pulls in a breath as Drift works his fingers into the gaps in the plating, tweaking and tugging at a wire here and there to try to loosen whatever knot has formed. It comes unfurled slowly. The plating eases up off Rodimus’ frame under Drift’s prodding, letting him work his fingers in easier and make more dexterous movements. After a few minutes of silence, Drift feels a small snap as the cable he’d been trying to straighten out bumps back into place, and he hears Rodimus sigh in relief as the tension releases.

His captain melts against the wall in relief, but Drift doesn’t move his hands off his frame, sensing that neither of them wants him to. He moves them up, slowly tracing biolights and plating seams, thumbs framing his spinal strut as he moves the fingers upwards and zigzags them lazily across the sensors on the plates. They come up to the bottom of his spoiler and run up and into the underside of it, slowly, teasing. Rodimus wiggles slightly, but Drift steps in closer and pins him to the door with his weight as he runs his fingers out to the edge of it. He’s still sensitive here, judging from the soft moans and movements he makes into the door as Drift explores this part of him in as tantalizing a manner as he can, knowing Rodimus will submit to it because he enjoys the pleasure of the sensation and the pain of being unable to resist it due to their proximity and location.

Drift flattens his palms over the back of the spoiler, curling his fingers over the top and guiding his hands inward by the thumbs. Rodimus gives a violent twitch when he nears the center, throwing himself back off the wall and into Drift, who suddenly finds himself pinned and unable to move. He starts to snicker.

“Dude, shut up,” Rodimus mutters, which for some reason brings Drift to full on laughter. “Drift, what the heck!” He wriggles around for the third time in the tiny space and presses himself against Drift’s chest as he laughs. “I’ll give you something to laugh about,” he says deviously, trailing the lightest of touches over Drift’s sides, making him jerk. “Ha, new frame, same soft spots.”

“Don’t!” Drift laughs, trying and somehow failing to grab Rodimus’ hands. But Rodimus must remember the last time he executed this dangerous maneuver, because he only tortures Drift a few more seconds before he flattens his hands over his sides and pushes them around and up his back, leaning his head against his chest.

“Got you, nerd,” Rodimus murmurs.

“Got you first, nerd,” Drift says back, curling his arms around Rodimus as well.

They settle into a closeness, and eventually come to the same mind to sink down into the tiny floorspace of the closet, curling over and into each other until they’re a tight knot of limbs and torsos and kibble.

The warmth of cuddling with Rodimus is always pleasant, but the warmth now combined with the insistent pressure dictated by the confines of their surroundings, pressing their frames into each other, is another kind of comfort altogether. There’s little room here for either of them to move, but Drift can feel Rodimus’ engine reverberating through his whole body, and can hear the mechanisms deep within Rodimus’ plating shifting regularly and easily with his audial pressed to his shoulder. He does shift just slightly, slipping Rodimus deeper into him, so they’re both locked tightly in this position.

Drift vaguely notices he’s offlined his optics again, and that neither of them has spoken for a while. “We really should call someone,” he says.

“Mmhmm,” Rodimus hums again. “Definitely can’t sleep in a closet. That’d be ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Drift says without really thinking.

“You’re ridiculous by association,” counters Rodimus. There’s another long beat of silence where Drift really does nearly slip into recharge. “I guess we can stay then.”

Drift is hypnotized by the thrumming of Rodimus’ engine, synchronized to his own, and heaves a deep, peaceful sigh. “Guess so.”

***

There’s light, so much light, so suddenly, and yelling. “Drift! Rodimus!” Tailgate has yanked the entire closet door off its hinges and is holding it in one hand. “I found them!” he calls behind him.

“Frag’s sake,” Rodimus mutters, shielding his optics from the light as Drift squints into it. “How long were we out?”

“You’ve been gone for hours,” Tailgate explains as Ratchet makes his way over behind him. “Ultra Magnus was getting anxious. He said you’ve never been gone and quiet for so long and good things have followed.”

“Clearly Ultra Magnus doesn’t remember the time I threw him a surprise party,” Rodimus grumbles as he tries to extricate himself from Drift and stand at the same time. Ratchet provides a nice assist, grabbing his hand and pulling him up to a sturdy standing position.

“I think that’s what he was talking about,” Tailgate says quietly, as if he’s not sure he wants Rodimus to hear him.

“Were you two sleeping in a closet?” asks Ratchet, sounding a little baffled.

“We were having a very private planning meeting on how to get off Necroworld,” Rodimus explains. “A brainstorming session, if you will. Drift says it’s an advanced form of meditation where you shut yourself in a small, dark place. Right?”

“It’s called Cocoon Meditation,” Drift lies, because he knows Ratchet will know he is. He smiles broadly as Ratchet’s scowl deepens, seeing the fondness hidden in the creases around his mouth.

“I’m assigning you both some leave. If you’re tired enough to pass out in a cramped, dinky little closet, you aren’t getting enough rest,” the grumpy medic rattles off. “I’ll tell Magnus he’s in charge. Go back to your suites and finish your nap.”

Ratchet spins around and heads off, talking into his comm, as Tailgate scampers off behind him.

Rodimus reaches for Drift’s hand and squeezes it. “You know, he didn’t say not to go together.”


End file.
